Vivaldi at Two: a Sherlock fanfic, Holmes/Watson
Vivaldi at Two
Rating: K+, mild swearing (only in the beginning)
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, mostly friendship
Spoilers: none
“Bloody hell,” John Watson cursed at two in the morning. He was having a wonderful sleep until he heard the screeching of violin strings that could only originate from his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes.
John blinked open his eyes and sat up unwillingly. He walked down the stairs one step at a time, the violin feeling like abuse to his ears. When he arrived at the main living room of the flat, he saw the violinist standing next to the window.
The light glowed on Sherlock’s pale face as he played; his eyes closed in concentration. If a photo was taken at this moment, he would have looked like some sort of old violin master. To John though, whose ears are through with listening to Sherlock butcher a perfectly fine Vivaldi, the man before him was nothing like a master.
Suddenly, the violin stopped in mid-verse and Sherlock murmured, “John.”
“What the hell are you doing?” John whispered crossly. He didn’t want to raise his voice and wake Ms. Hudson.
“Thinking.” Sherlock answered, as if it was already obvious. It sort of was, considering he always played violin while he thought.
John sighed, “I should be used to this by now, but how can I be used to hearing Vivaldi at two in the morning when I’ve got clinic tomorrow?”
Sherlock put the violin down on the armchair. He collapsed onto the couch and stretched out his long frame on the cushions to get comfortable. He sighed, “I can’t sleep.”
“Excuse me?” John laughed, a shake-y you-can’t-be-serious-laugh. “So, let me get this straight. You can’t sleep, so no one else is allowed to sleep? Oh fantastic, just bloody fantastic.”
“John, don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock protested. “Why would I prevent you from sleeping? I need you well rested in case we need to chase another serial killer down the back streets of London.”
“Then why-….”
“I can’t sleep,” repeated Sherlock with finality. There was a slight edge to his voice, like he was annoyed at this conclusion.
Silence. John sat down on the second armchair and placed his head in his hand, wiping the tiredness from his eyes. He knew the only way he would get any sort of sleep tonight was if John helped the detective from his restlessness.
“Why can’t you sleep?” John asked tiredly.
“Thinking,” said Sherlock.
John sighed in frustration. “Great.”
“That’s not what I meant, John,” Sherlock clarified. “I meant that... nevermind.”
“No, tell me.”
Sherlock thought over what he was going to say carefully, “I meant that…my brain, my hard drive, refuses to ‘shut down.’”
“So you’re thinking too much and that’s keeping you awake?” John paused, “What could you possibly be thinking about that’s keeping you up? Actually, you know what, I don’t want to know. What I want to know, though, is why did you feel it was necessary to dumb that down for me? I may not be as clever as you but I’m not-…”
“It’s two in the morning and your sleep was disturbed. If I was to explain it to you in the original way that I had planned, then you’d be asking me stupid questions about it all night and we both won’t get any sleep.”
“I don’t ask any stupid-…”
“Don’t take it personally; everyone asks stupid questions.”
John put up his hands in surrender, “I give up.” He got up from his seat and yawned, “What can I do to help?”
“Go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.”
“No, no, no. If I leave you like this, eventually you’ll get bored and start shooting the wall or using the microwave for some sort of weird experiment.”
“I’m not going to-…”
“Don’t lie; you know as well as I do that you would. So I’m going to get you to bed and then I’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep. Everyone wins.”
“I don’t think-…”
“Sherlock, just get up.” He emphasized, “Now.”
John had his hands on his hips, thinking he was acting like a child’s mother. Sherlock glared at him, then reluctantly got off the sofa and walked to his room. John followed closely and watched as his friend got into bed. “Now close your eyes," John told him.
“I’m not a ch-…”
“Do it.”
Sherlock did as he was told, but said irritably, “This isn’t going to work.”
“Just trust me. Are your eyes closed?”
“Yes.”
“Completely closed?”
A short pause. “…yes.”
“No peeking?”
A longer pause. “…yes.”
John carefully crept towards the bed using the quietest and smallest steps possible. He maneuvered around the occasional discarded sock or shirt on the ground until he reached Sherlock’s side. The grey eyes were completely hidden behind lids; it’s nice that at least they trusted each other.
With that in mind, John took a deep breath and kissed Sherlock. Right there. On the lips.
It was quick, just two seconds long, but it obviously took the detective by surprise. He stayed lying down; his eyes wide open in a mix of shock and uncertainty. “What are you-?”
"Can you finally go to sleep?” John asked, as if this was completely normal. “I still have clinic in the morning, and I’m sure Sarah would be mad if I fall asleep at work again.”
Sherlock was at a complete loss of words and could only open his mouth before closing it again. John leaves the room, completely victorious. He slept wonderfully.
Version Two
Rating: K+, mild swearing (only in the beginning)
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, mostly friendship
Spoilers: none
“Bloody hell,” John Watson cursed at two in the morning. He was having a wonderful sleep until he heard the screeching of violin strings that could only originate from his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes.
John blinked open his eyes and sat up unwillingly. He walked down the stairs one step at a time, the violin feeling like abuse to his ears. When he arrived at the main living room of the flat, he saw the violinist standing next to the window.
The light glowed on Sherlock’s pale face as he played; his eyes closed in concentration. If a photo was taken at this moment, he would have looked like some sort of old violin master. To John though, whose ears are through with listening to Sherlock butcher a perfectly fine Vivaldi, the man before him was nothing like a master.
Suddenly, the violin stopped in mid-verse and Sherlock murmured, “John.”
“What the hell are you doing?” John whispered crossly. He didn’t want to raise his voice and wake Ms. Hudson.
“Thinking.” Sherlock answered, as if it was already obvious. It sort of was, considering he always played violin while he thought.
John sighed, “I should be used to this by now, but how can I be used to hearing Vivaldi at two in the morning when I’ve got clinic tomorrow?”
Sherlock put the violin down on the armchair. He collapsed onto the couch and stretched out his long frame on the cushions to get comfortable. He sighed, “I can’t sleep.”
“Excuse me?” John laughed, a shake-y you-can’t-be-serious-laugh. “So, let me get this straight. You can’t sleep, so no one else is allowed to sleep? Oh fantastic, just bloody fantastic.”
“John, don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock protested. “Why would I prevent you from sleeping? I need you well rested in case we need to chase another serial killer down the back streets of London.”
“Then why-….”
“I can’t sleep,” repeated Sherlock with finality. There was a slight edge to his voice, like he was annoyed at this conclusion.
Silence. John sat down on the second armchair and placed his head in his hand, wiping the tiredness from his eyes. He knew the only way he would get any sort of sleep tonight was if John helped the detective from his restlessness.
“Why can’t you sleep?” John asked tiredly.
“Thinking,” said Sherlock.
John sighed in frustration. “Great.”
“That’s not what I meant, John,” Sherlock clarified. “I meant that... nevermind.”
“No, tell me.”
Sherlock thought over what he was going to say carefully, “I meant that…my brain, my hard drive, refuses to ‘shut down.’”
“So you’re thinking too much and that’s keeping you awake?” John paused, “What could you possibly be thinking about that’s keeping you up? Actually, you know what, I don’t want to know. What I want to know, though, is why did you feel it was necessary to dumb that down for me? I may not be as clever as you but I’m not-…”
“It’s two in the morning and your sleep was disturbed. If I was to explain it to you in the original way that I had planned, then you’d be asking me stupid questions about it all night and we both won’t get any sleep.”
“I don’t ask any stupid-…”
“Don’t take it personally; everyone asks stupid questions.”
John put up his hands in surrender, “I give up.” He got up from his seat and yawned, “What can I do to help?”
“Go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.”
“No, no, no. If I leave you like this, eventually you’ll get bored and start shooting the wall or using the microwave for some sort of weird experiment.”
“I’m not going to-…”
“Don’t lie; you know as well as I do that you would. So I’m going to get you to bed and then I’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep. Everyone wins.”
“I don’t think-…”
“Sherlock, just get up.” He emphasized, “Now.”
John had his hands on his hips, thinking he was acting like a child’s mother. Sherlock glared at him, then reluctantly got off the sofa and walked to his room. John followed closely and watched as his friend got into bed. “Now close your eyes," John told him.
“I’m not a ch-…”
“Do it.”
Sherlock did as he was told, but said irritably, “This isn’t going to work.”
“Just trust me. Are your eyes closed?”
“Yes.”
“Completely closed?”
A short pause. “…yes.”
“No peeking?”
A longer pause. “…yes.”
John carefully crept towards the bed using the quietest and smallest steps possible. He maneuvered around the occasional discarded sock or shirt on the ground until he reached Sherlock’s side. The grey eyes were completely hidden behind lids; it’s nice that at least they trusted each other.
With that in mind, John took a deep breath and kissed Sherlock. Right there. On the lips.
It was quick, just two seconds long, but it obviously took the detective by surprise. He stayed lying down; his eyes wide open in a mix of shock and uncertainty. “What are you-?”
"Can you finally go to sleep?” John asked, as if this was completely normal. “I still have clinic in the morning, and I’m sure Sarah would be mad if I fall asleep at work again.”
Sherlock was at a complete loss of words and could only open his mouth before closing it again. John leaves the room, completely victorious. He slept wonderfully.
Version Two